Truth and Consequences
by saintsinthesea
Summary: Takes place between the "Nunnery" scene and the "Mousetrap play." Alternate take on Hamlet. Hamlet's masquerade as a mad man crumbles at the will of the fair Ophelia.


Ophelia stood outside of the tall, mahogany door of Prince Hamlet's chamber. She knew this was inappropriate, especially after her father barred her from the prince's presence, but she was tired of pleasing everybody else. She could no longer hold in the passions she felt in her heart; it was a flame, consuming her entire being, and she was slowly dying a fiery death.

While she put on a brave face, Ophelia was nervous. She didn't know how Hamlet would react to her midnight visit, especially since his raging speech he gave to her the night before. His anger busted like a dam as he claimed that all women where nothing but whores, and even though he didn't call her one, Ophelia assumed he thought she was.

Hamlet, who had once been kind and intelligent, was now acidic and bitter. Even worse, his love for Ophelia turned sour. He trampled upon her heart and excruciatingly hurt her emotionally. She cried herself to sleep at night these past weeks. Her father, Polonius, was indifferent to his daughter's emotions, and was no source of consolation. Ophelia faced every day alone and cold. She could feel her mind slipping, her sanity diminishing. She did not know how much longer she could stand living like this. Ophelia also knew that without Hamlet's love, there would be no sense in living.

She would tell Hamlet the truth tonight. She had one last chance to prove that her love for him could not be assuaged. If it failed, she knew a lovely brook that would beckon for her own sweet death.

Ophelia rapped on the door, quietly but firmly. After a few slow seconds, she heard the shuffling of feet that she knew was Hamlet's. She took a step back as he opened the door. He was a handsomely tortured sight, his dark hair in an array over his head, his eyes radiating surprise as he saw Ophelia meekly standing at his door with her head turned down.

"What are you doing out here, Ophelia?" he asked, rather impatiently.

"I need to speak with you," she said quietly. She blinked hard to stop the flow of tears that were beginning to brim her blue eyes.

Hamlet sighed, combed his fingers through his hair, and stepped back to allow her in.

"Is this important?" he asked as he shut the door.

"Of course," Ophelia said. Hamlet noticed her golden hair looked like a halo in the candlelight. She looked like an angel.

Ophelia, still too nervous to look or even speak to Hamlet, kept her head down and was silent. Hamlet stood across from her with his arms across his chest. Inside, he was reveling at her being in his bedchamber, but he knew he couldn't let on. He had to be cruel to be kind to Ophelia, and the kindest thing he could do for her was to make her forget about him.

"Well, what do you want?" Hamlet spoke.

"I… I… I came here to tell you the truth."

"About what?" Hamlet asked, genuinely confused. He had never known Ophelia to tell lies.

"About last night," she said as she wrung her hands together.

"Well? Tell me!" Hamlet said, making sure he added extra cruelty to his voice. He hated to see her hurt, and him to be the source of her pain, but he had a goal and a promise to fulfill; it could lead to major consequences for himself, and he wasn't willing to put Ophelia through it.

"I wanted to say how incredibly sorry I am for last night," Ophelia blurted. She finally mustered enough courage to timidly look at him. The sight of tears in Ophelia's saucer-like eyes made him wince.

"What do you have to be sorry about?" he smirked. "You gave me back my tokens of affection to you, and in turn you renounced your love for me. Don't be sorry for being honest." He truly thought she didn't love him anymore, which made him glad and sorrowful at the same time. She didn't need to be with him for her own good, but Hamlet's selfishness still longed for her.

"But that's not true! I _do _still love you!" she sputtered as she wept uncontrollably. "I betrayed you yesterday for my father's sake!"

Hamlet furrowed his brows in confusion. "I don't know what you're saying."

Ophelia grabbed one of his bed posts and leaned against it as she continued to cry. She knew she ruined it. Perhaps all Hamlet needed was time to mourn his father's death, and she made it worse by pressing him with her affections, then withdrawing them, thus forcing Hamlet to spurn his former love for her. She tried to speak, but the force of her tears left no breath in her lungs for a single word.

Hamlet's heartstrings cinched at the scene. He loved her, he truly did. He didn't just _love_ her, he was head-over-heels _in_ love with her. He watched the pitiful, fair Ophelia, losing all control and sensibility; it was at this moment that he knew he had taken his masquerade a step too far.

He let his guard melt away as he rushed to Ophelia's side. Hamlet turned her face toward him and held her face in his hands.

"You didn't betray me," he softly whispered. Seeing tears in her eyes made him tear up.

"Yes I did!" she argued. "It was all my fault, but my father-"

Hamlet silenced her with a passionate kiss. Although shocked at first, Ophelia gladly received and reciprocated. She whimpered as Hamlet pulled back, and he brushed a stray tear away with his thumb.

"My father made me," she finished in a whisper.

"Then it's not your fault," Hamlet said huskily. "Besides, it is _I_ who have betrayed you, my lady." Ophelia's eyes exuded perplexity, so Hamlet continued. "I have always loved you, Ophelia. What I said yesterday was only an act. I've been living a lie this whole time!"

"What do you mean, Hamlet?"

Hamlet release Ophelia and turned his back from her. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. Should he tell her that he spoke to his father's ghost? Would she even believe him, or think he was crazy, which could possibly nosedive her into a depression. Hamlet sighed as he weighed his options. Ophelia had told him the truth; he owed her that much, and more.

"If I tell you something, would you promise me two things?" he asked as he turned back to her.

"Yes! Anything," Ophelia said eagerly.

Hamlet took a deep breath. "First, promise me that you'll not speak a word to anyone about this!" Ophelia nodded eagerly. "And secondly," he paused anxiously, then put his hands on her shoulders, "promise me that you won't think any differently of me."

"Nothing you could do could make me think the worst of you," Ophelia said. Her words were warm, comforting consolation to him.

"Very well." He gulped, trying to formulate the sentences in his minds. "Ophelia, I saw my father's apparition."

Ophelia's eyes widened. "You did?"

Hamlet nodded. "Yes. Several weeks ago. I didn't just see him… I spoke to him."

Ophelia gasped. "Are you sure, Hamlet?"

"I am positive." He nervously waited for her reaction, but her trusting eyes showed that she accepted it.

"What did it say?"

"My father wanted me to avenge his death."

Baffled, Ophelia answered, "I don't understand, Hamlet. Your father died of a snakebite."

"No, he did not," he said firmly. "He was murdered."

Ophelia inhaled sharply. "By who? Who would do such a thing?"

"A very jealous, power-hungry brother."

"_Claudius_!" Ophelia whispered. "I can't believe it!" She took a step back to register it all. "How did he accomplish such a task?"

"Poison," Hamlet said darkly. "He poured poison in his ear while he slept. Claudius said he found him in the garden with a snakebite at his ankles. He carved those with a needle."

Ophelia shook her head. "How cruel! I can't believe it!" She looked up at him. "What are you going to do, Hamlet?"

"The very thing I promised my father," Hamlet spoke. "Kill him."

"Hamlet, you can't do that!" Ophelia said hurriedly. "You could be tried for treason and murder! They'll kill you!"

"I am the true king of Denmark, Ophelia!" Hamlet objected.

Ophelia shook her head. "You're not above the law, Hamlet. You may be prince, but I doubt the Court Council will give you leeway for your royal blood."

"What else am I supposed to do, then?" Hamlet was exasperated. He had been mentally going back and forth on whether or not to act on vengeance, and once he finally decided _to_ act, Ophelia's better sense blocked him from his ambition.

"I don't know, Hamlet." Ophelia looked apologetic. "But I do know they would kill you." The very thought of her beloved Hamlet being tied to the gallows made her weep again. Hamlet reached out and pulled her into his loving grasp.

"Ophelia," he whispered as he stroked her long, blonde hair. "This is exactly why I was horrible to you."

"What do you mean?" Ophelia asked, her voice faintly muffled as her face was buried in his chest.

"I didn't want you to be pulled into the middle of this," Hamlet explained, "so I decided to put on a façade and to act mentally insane. It was to deter everyone from my true plans and," he added with regret, "for you to fall out of love with me."

"Why? Why did you put me through this?" Ophelia questioned.

"Because," he kissed her temple, "because I did not want you to be hurt by any outcome that arose from my plans. I did not want the consequences of my actions to cause you pain." He then sighed, and added, "but I suppose you would have been inevitably hurt. I've caused you grief because I tried to make it less painless on your part, but it did not work. And for that I truly apologize." He lifted her head and planted a sensual kiss on her lips. After he pulled away, he asked, "Do you forgive me?"

"Of course, my prince."

They kissed again, but Ophelia pulled away. "Do you still want me to go to a nunnery?"

Hamlet smiled. "Absolutely not."


End file.
